


Will you hold me now

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Peril
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26671477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Brock enjoys his simple life until tragedy strikes.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10





	Will you hold me now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FantasticWinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasticWinter/gifts).



> TJ was created by FantasticWinter, thank you for letting me play with him so much!
> 
> title: Take Me Home by Jess Glynne

Northern gannets soared in the gray sky above lofty cliffs, gray stone battered relentlessly by the dark churning sea’s violent waves. On the cliffs sat an unpainted wooden cabin, a bit crooked and worn by the harsh elements but it stood sturdy, erect against the coldest of blizzards, largest pieces of hail, and sheets of torrential rain. Most of the year the cliffs were bare and free of even the most resilient of plant life, but, between snowfall and drowning rains, life seeped up through the cracks in the rocks and the little blueberry bush, so carefully tended to by the youngest member of the home, would bloom. The berries it produced were small, almost tasteless but the thrill of having contributed to its creation added much needed sweetness to the otherwise tart berry. 

During those months the sky opened up to a vast blue blanket, the bright sun warming the clifftop where it’s inhabitants made the best of the good weather, taking long journeys under its rays. They would visit the small clifftops beneath them to see the gannets nests. They were careful not to disturb them, simply watching the sea birds come and go were plenty. Then they would return to the cabin, recharging with salt cured dried sablefish. After lunch they would tend to any choring, fetching water from the stream that ran three miles behind their modest home, the water clean and sparkling. One bucket for drinking and cooking, one for laundry which was done with soap flakes from the mainland. The clothes were cleaned and hung to be dried by the air currents swirling around at their altitude. They would then collect eggs from the hens. 

After, they sat at the edge of the cliff and waited, eagerly but patiently, for the third member of their little family to return. He left every day, going to the mainland to collect the post that he would deliver around their collective community of clifftop dwellers. He would arrive with a satchel full of goods: milk, flour, sugar, salt to preserve fish, canned vegetables and, usually, a sweet from the mainland for their youngest. 

It was a simple life, one free of strife and worries. Sure as the sea would come and go, sure as the birds would nest on the lower clifftops, sure as the blueberry bush would bloom, sure as the seasons would turn, everything was right as it should be. 

** ** ** **

“When d’ya think papa will let me deliver the post with him?” 

“When you’re bigger.” 

“I’m bigger now,” TJ protested. “My wings are bigger than they were yesterday.” 

Brock looked up from the wash and smiled. “Are they?”

“Uh-huh. I felt them grow.” 

“Did you now.” Brock set the wet clothes into a bucket to go through the wringer. “I think they need to get a bit bigger.” 

“They grew just now! I’m sure of it.” 

“Still need to be bigger.” 

“Will they ever be big enough daddy?” TJ asked, distraught. 

“One day,” Brock assured him, going to the cliff edge to dump the bucket. 

The water was swallowed into the sea immediately, seamlessly joining its ferocious battering against the cliff face. Brock turned back to his son who looked grumpily back at him. “I thought we’d make jam cookies today. What do you think?” 

The season was turning, days of warm blue skies, shifting to its ashy hue of autumn. The warmth was wavering already, sharp gusts of wind left Brock shivering a bit despite his sweater. TJ was never one to say no to cookies and trailed along behind him into the house. The inside of the cabin was smaller than it appeared, made up of three cramped rooms, a woodstove taking most of the space in the open kitchen and parlor. There were wooden chairs clustered around a small table against the far wall, opposite the wood fired cook stove. It had taken four to heft it from the mainland to their clifftop but it was a necessity. TJ trooped to his room, leaving a path of dirt Brock swept up with a small sigh. TJ came out, sweater free, with the wooden train he’d gotten for Christmas, two years previously. 

“It’s my cooking train,” he explained, setting it aside to oversee Brock making dough. 

“Ah,” Brock said as if it made sense. 

TJ had come from the mainland, a mother too young, too inexperienced to care for him. A mother who had a vice for drinking. He wasn’t like normal children, a peculiar way to him. He was a good addition to their little family and Brock had volunteered immediately when they asked who would willing to take the child in. He was good company when Jack was away, a partner in crime when slipping the eggs from the grumpiest of hens. Sweet, unassuming, and well behaved and he rarely put up a fuss. Except for when it came to flying long distances. 

TJ was affected by his mother’s vice, a bit touched, and Brock wasn’t certain how that would affect his flying. He could, that wasn’t a question. He had inherited his mother’s pearly wings, flecked with soot gray. They were elliptical wings, which lended itself into TJ’s personality: they were made to dart around, to have great bursts of energy. Jack had active soaring wings, long and thin, meant for soaring which was why he was so well fitted for his job. A flock of osprey had taken to him and often followed him to his post stops. TJ pulled his chair up beside Brock who was combining all the ingredients. Brock was aware that TJ was antsy about helping so he stepped aside and let him stir eggs in. Once it combined he sat back looking satisfied. 

“I did it, all on my own.” 

“You certainly did.” 

TJ collected his train and set it on the table. It was no longer needed to supervise, he would do so himself. Brock suspected he was hoping to lick the spoon after he spooned the preserve into the divot. He was correct, TJ requested the honor once the cookies were in the stove and the fire was crackling. It provided some warmth to the cabin as well. It was too warm for the woodstove but the excess heat from the stove took away the bit of a cold edge that gnawed at him. Brock looked out the window at the hen house and clothes line. The window was in need of a scrubbing so Brock left TJ at the table with his preserve coated spoon and combined soap flakes in the bucket with a clean rag. He washed all the windows, and TJ had fun following him around, pressing his nose to the glass. 

Brock was starting to understand why the windows got so dirty. Brock didn’t object, it kept him busy. Keeping himself entertained was as important as keeping TJ busy. They were alike in that regard, never able to stay in one place too long. Always moving, always learning. Speaking of learning TJ was due for his daily schooling so when the windows were finally smug free he convinced TJ to drag out his work book and they went over addition and subtracting. When that was finished it was high time for Jack to be returning so they went to the cliff edge and sat side by side theorizing on what lay inside his satchel. 

Brock spotted him first, a speck on the horizon that slowly grew bigger. He was a sight, a massive wingspan with tawny feathers and copper underwing. Brock and TJ moved back so he could land and he did so, floating the clifftop, pulling his wings in as TJ ran to hug him tight. Jack returned the hug and when TJ stepped back it was Brock’s turn. Jack passed him the satchel and he went to put away it’s contents. It was perfect timing because the cookies were ready to come out of the oven. He took them out first before he opened the leather satchel. The half gallon mason jar full of milk was expected and he stowed it in the icebox. Jack would have to retrieve a new block next week. In the cold months they could go a week and half, sometimes two weeks but during the warm weather one of them had to make a weekly trip. There was another sack of flour and sugar, a vial of vanilla extract, and some apples floating around at the bottom along with two wrapped bits of taffy for TJ. Brock smiled and set them on the counter. 

It didn’t take long for the smell of fresh baked thumbprint cookies to draw the two inside, TJ’s wings all poofed around in excitement. Brock gave them each two and left the others to cool down before he’d put them in the jar on top of the icebox so TJ’s curiosity didn’t end up with a tummy ache. After the cookies were consumed TJ begged Jack to fly with him and, despite probably being exhausted, Jack agreed. 

“You too daddy! We’ll catch a bird and-and keep him.” 

“We don’t keep the birds. It’s an honor to even fly with them, right?” 

TJ was momentarily crestfallen but he perked up. “Okay papa. We’ll just fly with them, okay daddy?” 

“How could I refuse?” 

The three walked to the cliff edge and Brock stretched out his hoary hued wings, beating them a few times and flexing his primary feathers. 

“Wanna count us down, Teej?” Jack asked looking fondly down at him. 

“Yes! I know all my numbers up to fifty, right daddy?” 

Brock smiled. “That’s right.” 

“We’ll go at…seven. Cos that’s how old I am.” 

“Okay, it’s all you.” 

TJ counted slowly, meticulously, and on seven the pushed off the edge and spread their wings. Hollow boned and lean, their bodies were built for flight. Jack banked and Brock and TJ followed. It was nice to stretch their wings, Brock especially. Sometimes he got so caught up in maintaining their way of life that he forgot to care for himself. It was the same way that Jack pushed himself constantly, flying through his exhaustion whether it was for deliveries, to humor TJ, or get whatever Brock ran out of. Brock branched off, knowing that TJ would stick to Jack’s side. 

Brock’s wings were made for speed. He flew high, wings beating hard before he angled them down, looking down at the writhing ocean below him. He tucked in his wings and dove straight down. The thrill was immediately a zap of excitement down his spine. It got closer, so close that the salty spray speckled his face. He snapped out his wings, leveling his body, wings beating hard. The tip of his foot trailed in the water and soared just over its surface. He took it all in :the smell, the froth spritzing his face… He closed his eyes, enjoying the air running through his hair, the weightless feeling, the knowledge that should he go too low and his wings get water logged it would be disastrous. Jack could carry a good load but not the weight of a full grown person. Brock knew that he should enjoy that, shouldn’t dabble in something so dangerous when he had such a good life and a wonderful family. But the urge remained. Jack knew he had a taste for danger when flying but he also knew he never did it in front of TJ, should he see and try to copy him. 

Brock only pulled up when he started to feel a bit lethargic, dodging a seabird with a fish in its beak. He climbed up slowly, eyes on the sky and as he got closer to the cliff side he saw Jack and TJ resting on the lower cliff face, pointing at the birds. When TJ caught sight of him and waved, jumping to his feet and off the cliff. He beat his little wings as fast as he could. He was a slow flier, but that was all in his wing shape. Jack could soar with him usually, finding slow currents. Brock sped up so TJ wouldn’t tire himself too quickly. 

“Daddy you were gone! You fly so fast. One day I'll be even faster than you!”

Brock smiled, circling him. He could only hover for so long and he didn’t want to fly away from TJ when he was talking to him. “I know you will. I can already tell.” 

TJ grinned, his puffed out with pride, his little wings fluttering excitement before he turned away from Brock and went back to rest with Jack. It felt wrong to be away from them so he landed and sat cross legged, back resting on the cliff face. Sea birds swooped around them, calling to one another. 

“How come we can’t understand birds?” 

“Well, we’re not birds. They have their own special language, just like us. They’re probably thinking the same thing.” 

TJ pondered it before nodding. “Ok, that makes sense.” 

TJ poked at a rock lily, toying with its stem before tucking his hands back. “I won’t pick you,” he told the plant. “You can grow to be big.” 

Jack hadn’t folded his wings in, letting them lay open and absorb what was left of sunlight. He knew they must have been exhausted. TJ was in no hurry to leave and Brock wanted to leave Jack as much time to recuperate as possible before they started home. TJ jumped off the cliff a few times, Brock scooting himself to the edge just in case. TJ liked to fly in circles and follow the birds who tolerated it as long as TJ didn’t try to touch them. He had learned that early on and now kept a respectful distance. He was delighted when others started to flock around with him, following him like he was their leader for a few minutes before getting back to their respective activities. 

Brock went out a few more times. He didn’t test his reaction speeds, just practiced his banking. Before he met Jack he lived on the mainland and his favorite activity was dodging between trees. Sometimes he missed the convenience of it but rural living had its charms and, at the end of the day, he wouldn’t change a single thing. When TJ was starting to look a bit tired they flew home. Once their feet settled Brock went to the line and took down the clothes. Inside he drew out salted beef and pickled radishes. Dinner was full of lively reminders of their trip from TJ. It wasn’t long before the conversation swung around the mainland. 

“I’m big enough,” TJ insisted. 

“Not quite. Soon for certain.” Jack said with a firm nod.

TJ sulked but didn’t argue. He wasn’t an argumentative child. He wasn’t afraid to voice what he wanted but he didn’t battle against a refusal. Brock washed up their dishes and the cold of evening had everyone heading to bed. Brock blew out the oil lamps and tucked TJ into his bed, drawing the quilt over his shoulders. He smoothed hair from his forehead and gave him a kiss. TJ asked for a story so Brock created one about a little bird leaving its nest and meeting all sorts of different animals. TJ settled in, snug and safe, and Brock retired to the living area where Jack was reading through a book he’d gotten from the mainland and Brock got busy with his knitting gloves for them all. They went through them like water and come winter, Brock ended up knitting by wood stove so Jack had a pair for the next post delivery. 

When Jack tired of reading Brock blew out the very last one. 

Brock woke at sunrise when Jack opened the chest at the end of their bed to get dressed. It was his last day delivering post for the week and that meant a late day for him. Brock wished he didn’t work so hard but it was because of his work they had naught to want. Brock got up, striking a match to relight the lamp in their room so Jack had light to dress and slick back his hair with pomade. Some days it was pointless with the high winds but it was part of Jack’s daily routine and he never deviated from it. Brock just sat back and enjoyed a conversation before frying up the eggs and salted pork on the stove and running coffee through the percolator from the water leftover from the night before. He made himself tea and sat opposite of him. During breakfast they discussed weather predictions, plans for his two days home, and supplies Brock was in need of, which, today, was milk because he needed to make more butter. Most had gone into the cookies. 

Brock walked him to the cliff edge with his mug of tea and watched him fly until he vanished into the rising sun. Then his day began. 

TJ crawled out the bed, rubbing his eyes blearily and Brock cooked for the both of them: eggs and a piece of bread slathered in strawberry preserves. The dishes were cleared away and washed, fresh eggs gathered and the eggs taken from the bowl so the freshest were on the bottom. Brock aired the sheets and started on baking bread while TJ ran around the yard with his wooden airplane. He requested to fly around in front of the house so Brock came out to oversee, milk in the jar to be turned to butter. He sat there for just over two hours, making the butter. TJ would touch down, a bit winded, and request to shake it before the task bored him and he jumped off the cliff again. 

Once Brock drained the buttermilk from the butter, he put the buttermilk into the icebox and the butter on the crystal butter dish Jack had gotten him for Christmas ages ago. Brock shaped it with a knife before putting the cover back on and checking on his bread. Thanks to the altitude it rose quickly in the bowl. He took it out and began to knead it before he shaped the loaves and put them into the oven. He went back outside to bring the sheets in and found TJ sitting by the hen house feeding them rice that Brock suspected he’d snagged when he was distracted. Brock didn’t mind, the five pound bag was still near full. 

He was able to lure TJ back inside for his lessons with a cookie. When they were finished with school work, TJ went back outside flying around the cliff top where Brock could see him while he took down the sheets. TJ touched ground when Brock had to go back inside, remaking their beds. Brock sat in front of the window watching TJ collecting pebbles that he stowed away in his pockets for reasons unknown to Brock but, he had a feeling, the reason would be made clear soon. TJ walked inside and plopped down spreading the rocks over the floor. Brock lifted a brow in it’s direction. 

“What’s that for?” 

“The chickens eat rocks and I’m gonna find out why.” 

“TJ, you can’t eat rocks.” 

“How else am I going to find out, Daddy? I won’t swallow them, I’ll lick them.” 

“They’re covered in dirt TJ. Please don’t eat them.” 

TJ didn’t object but he didn’t flop over dramatically, as if Brock had spoiled his biggest dream. “Do you know?” 

“I believe it helps them digest.” 

TJ propped himself up on his elbows. “Really?” 

Brock wasn’t completely certain but he imagined it the only logical reason. “As far as I know.” 

TJ turned his blue gray eyes upwards, deep in thought. “I think that makes sense.” 

“I think so too.” 

“Can I have another cookie?” 

“After dinner.” 

“Okay. Can I go fly again?” 

Brock gathered his knitting supplies. “Sure.” 

** ** ** **

Jack returned home with the milk, a fresh slab of beef, a jar of pickled eggs, condensed milk, more soap flakes, three extra bars of soap and a chocolate bar. The fresh meat was a welcome surprise. They were starting to run low so tomorrow Brock would begin the salt curing process. Tonight they would have hot fresh meat. He made a meaty stew out of it. Something thick and hearty to pair well with the switch of season. TJ ate his whole bowl and requested more so Brock considered it a win. TJ chose the chocolate bar over cookies and Brock lit the woodstove, putting metal buckets of water on top to warm. He waited until it was steaming before he poured it in the tub. TJ had his bath first, running his wooden car along the lip as Brock bathed him. Once he was wrapped up in a towel drying by the stove Brock swapped out the water and knelt beside the tub as Jack bathed, carrying on a quiet conversation about who he saw and what they had to say. It wasn’t a ploy for gossip, not officially anyway. And it wasn’t like he had many to gossip with (although on his trips to the mainland, conversation about what others were doing begged to be spoken). 

Brock washed Jack back and cleaned his wings. Jack returned the favor when Brock was in the tub and then, once he was finished, the tub was returned to its place in the decrepit shed that Jack always said he needed to fix but never found the time. TJ’s curls were dried by the time Brock got him ready for bed. He was too tuckered out to request a story and after his forehead kiss shut his eyes. 

Brock began his knitting but was quickly sidetracked by Jack and he didn’t mind in the least. It was the perfect night to make love, the cabin warm and cozy and still. 

Brock woke up, the sun streaming on his face. Jack’s back was to the window. Brock sat up, rousing him. The sun was up high and TJ had yet to wake him. It was a good morning for pancakes, everyone sleeping in. He kissed Jack, telling him to stay in bed for a bit longer while he cooked. Jack didn’t argue, he just pulled his blanket up over his shoulder. The cabin was a bit cool but not cold enough to rekindle the fire that was now smoldering ashes. Brock stretched, went out to fetch a bucket of water for coffee and tea. He returned and started on the pancake batter. Once he finished that he went to wake up TJ. 

He opened the door and sat on the edge of bed where TJ laid, consumed completely by the quilt. “Good morning,” Brock said, setting his hand on him. 

But it wasn’t him. Brock pulled back the sheets and found a mound of clothes. Brock looked at the chest and found it empty. Brock’s heart began to race as he stood up and ran to the kitchen. He looked out at the window at the henhouse -- no TJ.

“Jack, TJ’s gone.” Brock whispered in horror before he shouted, “Jack! TJ’s gone!”

Jack was there in an instant, wings dragging in exhausted. “What?” 

“He’s gone.” Panic settled in his chest robbing him of breath. “He’s gone Jack.” 

“Okay, okay, deep breath. Maybe he’s by the juniper again?” 

“You think?” 

It grew vertically off the east side of the clifftop. He liked to crawl on the trunk and look down at the water. Brock was constantly chasing him off of there because he worried about being uprooted. He wasn’t skilled enough to recover from dropping down to the water. Brock ran outside and took the air. He could fly faster than he could run. The juniper was lying vertically as it usual did and there was no TJ in sight. Brock was already in the air so he flew up higher and made a lap. No TJ. It didn’t make sense. There was nowhere else he could be, nowhere he could have gone unless… 

“No,” Brock whispered. 

It wouldn’t take long for the ocean to swallow a little boy. Just a second. Brock dove down towards the water, looking around wildly for a mop of chocolate curls, for white wings, for his son. He circled low and then went ocean level, wingtips skimming the frothing waves as he looked around wildly, shouting TJ’s name. His throat was raw from screaming his name and from the searing fear slicing its way through his entire body. Brock had never felt this way. He was angry and confused and scared and all he could do was keep yelling his name. The shadow of Jack overtook him. Brock was beginning to feel the pull of exhaustion but he refused to answer it. 

Not without TJ. Not without TJ.

“Brock,” Jack was beside him now. “Brock we have to go back. We can’t go on like this.” 

“I’m not leaving him.” 

“Brock.” 

“No! I’m not leaving my baby. I won’t. I’ll die out here, Jack. If he’s not with me, what’s the point of even living?” 

The tip of Brock’s wind dipped below the wave and it threw him off balance, nearly sending him tumbling into the water. He stabled himself back out. 

“Brock, I know how scared you are, I’m terrified. But TJ wouldn’t want this. You know.”

Brock wasn’t sure when he started crying. He could have been crying the entire time. “I can’t leave him out here, Jack. I-I can’t.” 

“We’ll rest and we’ll keep looking, okay?” 

“He can’t rest,” Brock choked out. “He can’t… He can’t fly for long Jack. You know that.” 

They were circling around and, with anguish, Brock tilted his wings upward, using his momentum to get him closer to the ledge. It would be a short rest, just for a second. So he’d have time to take his son out of the water. His body if nothing else. Brock landed in his heap, body wracking from the excursion and from the agony of a parent who had lost their child. It was a pain that couldn’t be compared to anything else. The kind that burns you up from the middle, one that felt like it would never ever go away because it wouldn’t. Not if TJ was dead. 

Jack pulled him in, wings wrapped around him, cocooning him, sharing his pain. Jack was grieving silently, forehead resting on his shoulder. 

“We’ll find him, we’ll find him,” Jack said, a running mantra that did little to soothe either of them but it was something and now, when they had nothing, something was good enough.

Brock believed it but in his gut he didn’t. He knew they’d be lucky to recover his body, that if he’d gone under the undertow would have swept him and careened him against the cliff wall. Every part of his body felt weighted down. He wanted to keep looking but he also wanted to crawl into bed and never, ever leave it. They remained there for forty minutes. It was a windy day. TJ didn’t fly well in the wind, Brock thought. His hopes grew more bleak as time went by. Jack stood, face stoic. “I’m going to look further out. Maybe he made it to Pillars. 

The Pillars was a thin jagged cliff that they would sometimes picnic at when watching the birds returning for the season. It was the longest trip TJ could make, always exhausted when they reached it. “I’ll come.” 

“No, keep looking here,” Jack said. 

“We already looked here. I’m coming.” 

Jack sighed in defeat and took off, Brock at his heels. They flew side by side, both tense and imaging the worse. Would Brock find his body there? He hoped the rocks hadn’t torn him up too badly. The thought took him by surprise. He vehemently had remained hopeful but that was quickly turning towards the undesired thoughts. How would they get his body to the mainland? Could Brock even handle it? 

A gannet flew dangerously close to his face and Brock swatted it. It cried and then there were two. Brock could have laughed. Not only was TJ gone but the birds had turned from allies to enemies. They circled the pillars ten times, rested for thirty minutes, and circled it ten more. When they rested before flying back home Brock thought about what TJ would look best in. He wondered if they had saved enough for a granite tombstone. TJ deserved that. He loved shiny rocks so it had to be shiny. Only the best for him. Only the absolute best. 

They’d only rested for a few minutes before the birds were back, now four strong. They swooped and called out, pecking at their wings. “As if this day can’t get any worse!” Brock cried with a sobbing laugh.

Jack didn’t look bothered, he looked curious. “I think they’re trying to tell us something.” 

“Oh you speak bird now?” 

“I’m serious Brock. Maybe...maybe they know something.” 

Brock looked at him with tear reddened eyes. “You can’t be serious.” 

“I’m following them,” Jack said shortly and took to the air. 

The birds ended their assault and started back towards their cliff. Brock wondered why he was bothering with this goose chase but he followed along, catching up Jack. They didn’t exchange any words. Three birds hung back and one flew over vertically down the cliff face before it vanished from sight completely. 

“A waste of time,” Brock said venomously. “I hope you’re happy Jack?” 

Jack followed the bird and, heaving a breath of fury, Brock flew down too. Suddenly the bird popped out a small crevice a few feet above sea level and cried. It hit Brock at the same time it hit Jack. “TJ?” 

The bird flew away in time for TJ’s head to pop out. “Papa!”

“Oh my god,” Brock said. “Oh my god.” 

Had they been an hour later the little cave he’d found safety in would have become his grave as the tide came in. It took the two of them maneuvering him out of the cave. His wings were wet and so were his clothes. Brock wanted to cry all over again. Once they had him on the ground, both men threw their arms around him, drawing him into a tight embrace. 

“Never do that again,” Brock said harshly and TJ winced. Brock took a deep breath. “I just… Papa and I were so afraid. Didn’t you hear me yelling?” 

“I could only hear the water and-and the birds found me and I asked for help and-and they helped me daddy! I can speak bird.” 

Brock couldn’t do anything but laugh. He held TJ tight as they went back inside. Exhaustion hit them all hard. Brock made eggs for dinner with salted pork. Eating was automatic, everyone still processing the day they’d had. TJ was practically falling asleep at the table. Brock insisted he sleep in their bed. He wasn’t sure how long it would take for him to be comfortable with TJ out of his sight but that was fine. All he needed to worry about was hugging his TJ. He tucked him in and TJ explained that he had tried to fly to the mainland but he scraped his wing on the cliff face (“It really hurt daddy.”) and one wing fell in the water so he swam over to the juniper because he knew there were caves there (“The birds stay there papa. So I knew I could too.”). It was a tale of luck, sheer dumb luck because things could have ended drastically worse. But that wasn’t important. What was important was TJ being there. The rest could be hashed out tomorrow morning when they weren’t exhausted. 

TJ fell asleep almost immediately and Brock and Jack stared at each other. “I’m sorry I didn't listen to you about the birds. If you’d listened to me….” 

“I didn’t,” Jack said shortly. “No point dwelling on what ifs.” 

“I was so ready to give up,” Brock whispered, the shame carving its way through his gut. “Oh god, if you hadn’t been here TJ would -- ”

“I was here Brock. Don’t you blame yourself. On the flight to the Pillars I was thinking about what wood would fit his coffin best.” 

Brock ran a hand over TJ’s wings, the feathers soft, dry and warm. “I’m just happy he’s here where he belongs.” Brock said, running his fingers through his primaries. “God I’m tired. But I’m afraid if I close my eyes he’ll be gone.” 

“Thankfully I am a very light sleeper. I wake up every time you or your wings moves.” 

Brock drew in a deep breath. “Okay.”

** ** **

As night folded around the unpainted cabin, the sky opened to a vast black canvas with glittering stars, the moon shining brightly over the little family of three. A family that could have easily been two. They kept their numbers by luck, sheer dumb luck. The kind of luck that would never strike twice, the kind of luck that had the eldest two wondering if there was a higher being. And because of their luck, or perhaps divine intervention, their story ended with hope instead of tragedy. Tonight the family slept easy, cradled by the comfort of safety. Tonight they enjoyed their happy ending.


End file.
